


Day is Coming

by aeroascending



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Slow Burn, angst but it's ok, its fine its great guys, miraak lives au, the dragonborn saves miraak, there's gonna be a lot of artistic liberties taken with this okay, yet another falling in love w miraak fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 10:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17640650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeroascending/pseuds/aeroascending
Summary: Squall knew Apocrypha was going to be trouble. She just never expected to bring the trouble back home.





	1. Mora's Laughter

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so I'm gonna begin by saying that it's been a while since I've written a fanfiction. Like... a Long While. Also, this is my first Skyrim Fanfiction, so I really don't have any idea What The Fuck I'm Doing. 
> 
> I wrote this assuming that anyone reading it has already played the Dragonborn DLC, so I don't go that in-depth with explaining all of the logistics of the quest Squall is on. If you haven't played the DLC yet, spoilers... I guess.
> 
> I barely edited this (bc I'm a dumbass) so I hope there aren't any glaring grammatical issues. If there are, please feel free to sneak into my house and teach me How To English before it's too late. I'm a visual learner, so please make a PowerPoint or two. 
> 
> Also, the title is based on the song "Day is Coming" by Katie Kim, which I totally didn't listen to on repeat while writing this. (But actually, I was seriously inspired by rotomtoms' Dragonborn playlist to write this fic, and I strongly encourage anyone who enjoys anything to check it out right....
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/rotomtoms/playlist/7uRxEUVdED1GMetYreHWyh?si=s4-SrhKGSnGymuMKV-noNw
> 
> ... here.) 
> 
> Alright that's it! Clout is Much Appreciated.

 

Squall was beginning to tire of Apocrypha.

Not physically- no matter how hard she fought or how long the hours seemingly passed, her senses remained sharp, her instincts quick to react to even the softest rustle of paper or lapping of deep black waters. She had no idea if her unfaltering energy was a side effect of Hermaeus Mora’s plane, or if she was simply chock-full of adrenaline: some combination of the two seemed to be the most reasonable explanation.

However, despite the endurance of her limbs, her mind was foggy, each thought seeming to disappear before she could comprehend its meaning. The place was a maze of bookshelves and inky pools of sludge she dared not touch: no matter what turns she made, it felt like Squall was walking in circles. She promised herself to never complain of the endless woods of Skyrim she often found herself lost in ever again. At least there, she could find her way home using the stars above as her guide. Here, there was nothing: only the faint chuckling of the Daedric prince of knowledge, mocking her as she watched.

How long had it been since she opened _Waking Dreams,_ transporting herself to this damned realm? The tears that stung the corners of her eyes had long dried, but Frea’s panicked voice still reverberated in the back of her mind, as she crouched helplessly over the body of her father. _Kill Miraak. Do not fail._  Squall could say little to comfort the woman then. She froze as Frea sobbed into Storn’s corpse, his body riddled with bloody holes, reminders of the Daedra’s cruelty. Dealing with the dead, she had found, was easy. Dealing with the survivors was less so.

The tentacles that had stabbed Storn now lashed out at her in this dreaded pain of existence, sharp pain erupting from where they slapped her legs. One even wrapped tightly around her tail, trying to drag her into the watery depths from where it came. Squall screamed, fire erupting from her hands as she scorched the slimy assailant. Luckily, it relented and Squall stayed far away from the waters of Apocrypha for the rest of her journey.

A deep pang of worry settled inside her chest, one that took her muddled mind to its advantage. _You are not right for this job._ Squall may be the Dragonborn, yes, but hardly anything else gave her the qualifications to embark on such a perilous task. She was a foreigner, both to Solstheim and Skyrim, and obviously so. Her catlike appearance kept her from truly assimilating: the only other Khajiit she had seen so far were mostly from caravans, which were barred from entering the city. Many a night had been wasted as she tried to convince city guards to let her in, that she was just an adventurer, not out to deal Skooma or steal their riches. Of course, “just an adventurer” was a lie, but she tried to keep her Dragonborn status only to herself. She didn’t need any more attention in her life.

Still, news of her dragon soul leaked out to the public, especially after the defeat of Alduin. She was a defender of Skyrim, perhaps all of Tamriel, whether she liked it (or saw herself fit for it) or not. And so, she was fated to serve its people.

Even her remarkable slaying of the World-Eater could not have been done without help from ancient Nord heroes. Here, she was alone, with little guidance besides a shout to bend will and one final goal: to defeat Miraak, plague upon Solstheim.

Squall was _terrified._

Hermaeus Mora now sought her out as the next champion, whether she liked it or not. She had to make the deal, not even knowing of the Daedra’s intentions. What did he want from her? It felt like stumbling blindly into a bear trap. Was her fate to rot in Apocrypha, like Miraak? Would she be corrupted like him, and come to conquer Solstheim? Just how much of herself would she lose in her quest to defeat the First Dragonborn?

Apocrypha provided no answers. Only the occasional Seeker greeted her, and was then abruptly silenced with a swing of Squall’s warhammer. At least they were easy to take down: still, Squall had no time for games. Yet, she felt like she was becoming the pawn in one.

Finally, a pillar emitting a strange green light greeted Squall at the end of a long, twisted hallway. The worst part of Apocrypha was the way it moved: how pathways twitched and spun and unraveled in the tepid air. Apocrypha was warm, but not like the pleasant sands of Elsweyr. The humidity was oppressive, leaving Squall’s palms clammy and the tunic under her amor damp with sweat.

The spacious room was mostly open air, except for the aforementioned center pillar, which was surrounded by four pedestals and of horde of Seekers. Cursing, Squall let out a Shout, throat buzzing from the draconic words that leapt from her maw and reverabrated against the many piles of books around her: _Krii Lun Aus-_ Kill, Leech, Suffer. The Seekers staggered backwards in pain, weakened by the Shout. Squall drew her glass warhammer: an unorthodox weapon for her race, as many Khajiits resorted to their stealthiness and the dagger. She charged at the three nightmarish creatures, trying not to flinch at the spells each one hurled at her, which caused gashes to grow on her skin. She swung at the first one in vain. The Seeker had evaded her attack, transforming into a cluster of thick black mist. Trying to ignore her dwindling strength, Squall swung again, the face of her hammer now burying itself into the grotesque middle of the Seeker to her left, causing the creature to fold upon itself, its flesh disintegrating. The center Seeker was still invulnerable, so Squall directed her attention to the beast on her right. Another strong blow to its middle caused it to crumble. While she recovered from the swing, the center Seeker forced the warhammer out of her hands. Squall’s eyes widened as the creature descended upon her. Her eyebrows furrowed. _Very well,_ she thought, as her hands lit up in a deadly blaze.

The Seekers defeated, Squall could finally turn her attention to the rest of the room. The four pedestals were without books, the tome on the center was closed. Squall drew a deep breath and fumbled for her knapsack. She had collected any books that seemed exclusive to Apocrypta, curiosity getting to her. She had meant to read them later in order to learn more about the realm of the Daedric prince she was now champion of, but, with further inspection, it appeared that they had an entirely different use.

The pedestal with the eye was for Prying Orbs, the one with the tentacles, Boneless Limbs. And so forth. It felt like Hermaeus Mora was mocking her.

* * *

 

The Bend Will Shout had come in handy, much to Squall’s relief. (She would later have to tell Frea that her father’s death was not in vain.) After using it on Miraak’s servant, the dragon Sahrotaar, he praised her mastery of the thu’um and agreed to take you to Miraak. “ _But I must warn you,”_ Sahrotaar had said, serpentine tongue flitting in and out of his fangs. “ _Miraak is strong, and he knows you are here.”_

Squall had only ridden a dragon one other time, during her trip to Sovngarde’s portal upon the back of Odahviing. She remembered bracing the harsh winds of Skyrim as she gripped onto the mighty dragon’s great horns with the unbridled joy of feeling free of gravity for the first time, despite the severe purpose of that journey. Her ride was Sahrotaar was much more tense. There were no winds in Apocrypta: the same murky air that stifled her on the ground hung in the air. Sahrotaar flew unsteadily: as if the dragon was debating whether or not to plunge into the waters of Apocrypta, ending this entire ordeal. Squall could hear him worryingly murmur under his breath as he drew closer to Miraak’s presence. Her own demeanor did little to quell his anxieties, as her ears fell flat upon her head and her fur bristled under her heavy ebony armor.

Squall lost the element of surprise. As she approached a horrifying plateau embellished with dark arches and spikes (all reminiscent of Hermaeus Mora’s tentacles) a deep voice called out. _“Sahrotaar, are you so easily swayed?”_ The dragon paused, hovering in mid-air. _Land,_ Squall commanded. Despite his wishes to do otherwise, he obeyed.

Miraak was flanked by three more dragons, each gruesome in his own nature, as they hovered above their master, desperate for blood. Squall could hear the beginnings of a shout form in one of the beasts’ throats, and drew her weapon appropriately. She grew still as Miraak dismissively waved the dragon aside.

“No. Not yet,” the man’s face was unreadable under his mask, his voice a powerful echo that shook Squall to her core. “We should greet our guest first.”

Squall took a step back as Miraak began walking towards her. “And the First Dragonborn meets the Last Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha. No doubt just as Hermaeus Mora intended.”

Squall frowned. “You-”

Miraak ignored her. “He is a fickle master, you know. But now I will be free of him. My time in Apocrypha is over. You are here in your full power, and thus subject to my full power. You will die.”

Squall sneered. “You know nothing of my fate.”

Miraak tensed up then, voice hollow and as mournful as it was fierce. “Your fate has been written out for you the moment you stepped into this realm, _Dovahkiin._ Hermaeus Mora is laughing at us, you know.”

No matter how much Squall wanted to deny this, she could hear it: a faint, otherworldly chuckle surrounded both of them.

And with that, the battle begun.

Squall would like to think she fought honorably. She did not. Neither of the Dragonborns did. She darted in and out of columns that littered their battleground, using her Thu’um to weaken the first. She dropped her warhammer, realizing that its weight only made her slower, and that it would be nearly impossible to get closer to Miraak without him landing a fatal blow upon her. Instead, she went on the sneaky defensive: hands alight and spewing flames at almost any chance Miraak lost sight of her.

“Hiding is beneath you, Dragonborn,” Miraak sneered as one of his Shouts, _Yol Toor Shul,_ sent her reeling behind yet another pillar. Squall did not care. She could begin to see his patience- and his strength- fading. Finally, while Squall crouched behind an archway, she saw Miraak still. _Finally! Here’s your chance!_ Squall thought as she drew a single ebony dagger, ready to deliver a final blow. Miraak, however, had other plans.

 _"Kruziikrel, ziil los dii du!"_ Squall watched in horror as the dragon closest to her fell, its body making a loud _thud_ as it hit the ground. Miraak devoured its soul greedily.

Squall shivered. That felt _beneath him_.

The fight continued. Squall stuck to her guns: she continued attacking from the shadows. Miraak took another dragon soul, than another, until the two were alone (apart from the watchful gaze of Hermaeus Mora).

Squall knew what she had to do. “ _Wuld Nah Kest!_ ” she screamed.

Miraak turned his head in confusion, but she was gone. Rushing directly past him, utilizing the great speed her Shout granted him, Squall grasped her warhammer and charged. Miraak raised his hands, a great bolt of lighting hitting her in the stomach, but she continued running, legs still in motion as she tried to bite back pain.

Weapon raised above her, she leapt, ready for her warhammer to deal a devastating final blow.

It did not.

“ _Fus Ro Dah!”_ Miraak’s Shout blew Squall back, her body slamming against a pillar with a sickening squelch.

“You are strong,” Miraak chided. “Stronger than I believed possible.”

Squall closed her eyes, focusing on letting her restoration magic heal her.

Miraak drew closer. “This is the only way, Dragonborn,” he drew his sword. “The only way I can be free.”

Squall’s eyes widened to see the First Dragonborn storm closer, oblivious to the rising mass of tentacles behind him.

“Wait,” she croaked. “Miraak-”

He turned sharply in horror. The mass descended upon him at once, dragging him towards a pit of tar-black waters as he thrashed against Hermaeus Mora’s grip.

Squall wobbled to her feet. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Did you think you could escape me, Miraak?” A booming voice said. “You can hide nothing from me here. No matter.”

A grotesque tentacle rose from the inky liquid, stabbing the First Dragonborn straight through the stomach.

Squall screamed, visions of Storn and Frea dancing in her head.

Hermaeus Mora laughed as Miraak grew limp. “No matter,” the Daedric prince murmured. “I have found a new Dragonborn to serve me.”

Squall glanced down at the warhammer that lay between her and the horrors before her. Then, without warning, her legs rushed into action.

A guttural, inhuman screech came from the skies above as Squall bashed the warhammer into Hermaeus Mora’s tentacle, reducing a portion of it to a slick and ragged pulp. Miraak fell with a _slosh_ into the liquid beneath him.

“Traitor!” the Daedric prince screamed.

The rest happened in a daze. Squall remembered grasping Miraak underneath the shoulders and heaving him out of the acidic pool. The wound in him was deep- so deep, Squall could see entirely through him, a vision that churned her stomach.

“You dare defy me, Dragonborn?” Hermaeus Mora howled. “You will pay for this!”

Squall was barely listening. _Get the Black Book,_ her mind screeched. _Get the Black Book, and get the Oblivion out of here!_

Fumbling through her knapsack, she pulled out the darkened tome and flipped it open, keeping one arm curled around Miraak.

A single green eye opened up on the pages.

“Perhaps,” a hushed tone surrounded Squall. “I will let you go this time, deceitful champion. I admire your cleverness. But,” Several tentacles began protruding from the corners of _Waking Dreams, “_ do not see this as a victory, Dragonborn. See this as mercy… Or perhaps,” Hermaeus Mora chuckled. “Perhaps a warning.”

 And with that, the lukewarm air of Apocrypta vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> miraak!!! hermaeus mora's tentacles are behind you!!!! oh fuck. he has airpods in. he can't hear us


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After escaping Apocrypha (with a bleeding First Dragonborn proving to be a harsh souvenir), Squall finds herself struggling in the Solstheim wilds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaand we're back 
> 
> TW for gore and makeshift surgery, along with vomiting/ being sick. Just a heads up if you're sensitive to that kind of thing. 
> 
> On a lighter note, I just realized that I can probably classify this fic as a slowburn. Cuz these guys are... definitely not fucking anything soon 
> 
> alright that's pretty much it, kudos & comments (even if they're like "ur work sucks lmao") are much appreciated. i also edited the first chapter slightly after realizing that I spelled "Solstheim" wrong.... its a hard word ok

 

Before she could even lament the wind being knocked out of her, the grounds of Solstheim appeared under Squall’s boots. Curled over and wheezing, she could suddenly feel every inch of her body burning- the scrapes and bruises that only served as minor inconveniences to her in Apocrypha now stung in the cold. There was a sizable gash on her right leg, and the skin on her left arm was considerably burned: luckily, not enough to incapacitate her, but enough that she could still feel the heat rising from the wound. Squall looked down to see that a portion of her tawny fur had been completely singed off, leaving a patch of flaking, red skin exposed to the elements.

She muttered a string of curses under her breath. Everything _hurt._  

She had not been transported to the Skaal village she first opened _Waking Dreams_ in.  Instead, she was now alone, sent to a desolate corner of the chilly Northern Solstheim wilds, with only the permafrost and mammoth conifers to keep her company.

Squall glanced at the unconscious man next to her. Well, she was almost alone.

Miraak lay profusely bleeding. The deep gash in his middle was now slick with crimson, the substance draining with frightening speed into the snow below.

Squall bit her lip as the heart in her battered body sped up and her thoughts began to race. What to do? They were at least a few miles from the Skaal village, and even if she could muster up the strength to drag the First Dragonborn all the way there, it was very likely that the people there would refuse to treat him. Squall grimaced. Not like she could blame them.

The thought came to her there: a cruel and ruthless one, but one nonetheless. She could leave now, and let Miraak rot in the wilds. Her duty had been done, her destiny fulfilled. She had no ties to this man, no reason to do anything except simply walk away and tell Frea that the job had been done. But still…

Squall shook her head, and knelt down next to Miraak, hands beginning to flush with the warmth of restoration magic.

Peeling back his dark robes, Squall pressed the pads of her fingers into the edges of the wound. She held her breath, waiting for the sinews of flesh to knit back together, feeling her energy drain with each ragged breath. Nothing happened.

She pulled away, and, frantic and desperate, unsheathed a single claw and pulled back a single layer of bloodied skin. Mixed in with the deep russet of his blood, thick black slime clung in chunks to the wound, no doubt sick reminders of the demon that dealt the blow. Squall let a steady flow of magic flow through her again, but to no avail. The slick, inky substance shielded any part of the wound from healing.

She drew a deep breath, her trembling hands fumbling for her belt. She drew her ebony dagger and lit a small flame in her palm, dipping the hilt of the blade into the fire. Squall glanced back at Miraak. At least there was the queasy fact that she couldn’t really make his fragile state any less unwell.

Trying to stop her sword hand from shaking, Squall carefully nudged the first clot of the tentacle slime with the point, working the blade back and forth until the lump came free. She brought the fingers from her left hand back to the now uncovered hunk of flesh, magic now seeping into the tissue, patching up torn organs and stitching new tendons into the battered muscle. She didn’t even check for a pulse, hoping that it was true that restoration magic didn't work on the dead, that this work was for naught. Squall had little training for healing: she had, however, enough knowledge on butchering animals to know the difference between a clean cut and one that would trespass upon a major artery. Squall felt bile well up in her mouth and forced herself to swallow it back. Her job was not done.

Nostrils flared as she took in frigid air in rapid, speedy breaths, Squall tediously began the process of slicing each bulbous heap of sludge-- all reminders of Hermaeus Mora’s cruelty-- and slowly applying more and more restoration magic, until pallid skin finally came into view.

It took a few moments for Squall to realize that her hands had gone cold. The once steady flow of restoration magic had dried up, leaving her surrounded by shreds of otherworldly carnage, shaking like a leaf.

Stirring like a prophet rising from dreams of catastrophe, Squall rose to her knees, mind possessed by a much more primal spirit than her usual self. She scanned her desolate surroundings, finding little besides dense conifers and icy boulders. Luckily, the divines had blessed her with a small stream, running only a little more than a hundred feet away from her. There was no way Squall would get herself to any sort of civilization at this point, even if she decided to abandon Miraak there. She would have to gather herself and make camp. Shambling towards the water, Squall nearly collapsed halfway through the trek, dry heaving as if her body was urging her to vomit. She could only spit up bile: how long had she gone without food? Squall vaguely remembered eating a sorts of breakfast, but no lunch: the Black Book had distracted her. She shook her head. _Just how long was I in Apocrypha?_

Tears began to well up in Squall’s eyes as she trudged the rest of the way to the water. There was something so sickeningly laughable about the whole situation: one Dragonborn knocked out, robes still slick with blood that only recently stopped flowing. The other, crouched over a creek, gagging on her own tears. The First and the Last, humbled in their own misery.

Squall tried not to think too much about that.

She slowly began shedding herself of her weapons and armor. Squall had packed light for Apocrypha, expecting an easy return back to the Skaal village. The only weapons she had brought were her warhammer, its head now rusted with blood and inky goo, and her ebony dagger, which still sat next to Miraak’s body. She quietly peeled off the hefty ebony armor she had journeyed into the Daedric realm with.The armor was badly damaged: spattered with blood and dented in a few places.  Squall shivered in the simple tunic and breeches, only adorned now with the amulet of Kynareth (or Khenarthi, as Squall had always known her as) she often wore under her armor. Her clothes were soaked through with sweat, now only just drying from the dampness of Apocrypha. She had fortunately packed a thick cloak, which she now slung over her shoulders, rejoicing in the warmth it brought her.

The water was icy to the touch, but Squall still sunk her hands in, scrubbing away all the blood and dirt until she could finally see the small spots that dotted her fingers, growing larger as they trailed up her arm, kissing her chest and back, creating constellations of her very own. When she was younger, Squall would trace the distances between her spots with her forefinger, making up stories for each pattern she could make out on her own body. It was like a game: here is the Spriggan, the Senche, the dragon. All beings of her very own, imprinted onto her by the Divines.

Despite the cold, Squall cupped some river water in her hands and splashed it onto her face. Her mind was wandering, deluded by the fragile state she had put herself in. She had brought along a few potions and a hunk of bread, all settled in a simple bundle she kept strapped to her armor. Crawling back to where it lay, Squall dug for one of the healing tonics she had bought in Raven Rock, uncorking the potion with a swift tug. She had to stop herself from draining the entire thing in one gulp like how one would chug a bottle of mead-- instead opting to take shallow sips, just in case her stomach refused to agree with the foreign substance. Her body hummed with delight, her chest rumbling as the gashes she sustained began to close up, scars forming then disappearing in a heartbeat.

As she drank, she glanced at the body she had so haphazardly abandoned for the waters. Miraak still seemed unconscious. Squall hoped that her healing was enough to keep the man from leaving Nirn forever.

_But why save him at all?_ A part of her thought. Squall looked down at her drink. For that question, she had no answer. Squall had never considered herself to be the kind of fool who tried to swindle the universe out of making sacrifices. She knew that acts of heroism often called for hard choices: whether she could make them or not was up for another debate. However, she could at least realize that such acts were necessary.

Still, Squall was not cruel. When the Blades told her she must kill Paarthurnax, she laughed in their faces. She knew the difference between the will of the gods and the wrath of man, at least to an extent.

Her gaze steadied on Miraak, a familiar chant beginning to reverberate in the back of her mind: ‘Here is his shrine... That they have forgotten... Here do we toil... That we might remember…’ she shook it away, but the chill it gave her still remained. _Is he worth saving?_ The thought was unavoidable. It seeped into the crevices of her skull, weighing her down more than any chestplate or shield ever could.

_Is he worth saving?_ No, probably not. Her saving Miraak was a smear on all the good promises she had made: to the people of Solstheim, to her own rules of conduct as a Dragonborn, even to the Daedric prince of knowledge himself. It was an impulsive act on her part, one born from the part of her heart that still twisted when she stabbed, that wept at every killing Squall bore witness to.

_Was it right, to save a monster?_ Squall stirred from her spot, placing the now empty bottle back into her satchel. She began to gather her armor and walk back towards Miraak’s body.

No, it wasn’t right. However- _It’s not like I haven’t made the wrong choice before,_ Squall thought. She wasn’t exactly a perfect Dragonborn.

Miraak hadn’t stirred since the pair had been teleported to these wilds. Squall cleared away debris from a patch of land in front of the body, then searched for wood and kindling for the fire. She might as well make camp: although, she doubted that she would get any sleep, despite her aching body begging to differ. Lighting the twigs and dried leaves with a swift bolt of flame delivered from her hand, Squall forced herself to relax and sit down in front of the fire, letting its warmth sink deep into her fur, wrapping around her better than any blanket and cloak ever could. She dug around in her knapsack for the loaf of bread she had packed, tugging off a sizable chunk. Nibbling on the softest innards of the roll, she stared into the flames, letting the mundanity of their movement lull her into a state of rest. She glanced anxiously at the body in front of her, which still refused to stir. Was there more she could do? She couldn’t administer any healing potions while he was still knocked out, and her restoration magic could only go so far in healing the wound. She tiptoed closer to Miraak, finally draping her own fur cloak over the body. Peering into the slits of his garish gold mask, Squall tried to discern any sign of life, but the only thing she could see was a chilling darkness.

Growing impatient, Squall reached out and grazed the hard metal surface with her fingers, catching one of her fingers on the underside of one of its sculpted pincers. She began to lift the mask up slowly, then drew a harsh breath, dropping her hand, the touch still lingering like embers to a flame.

Miraak shifted ever-so-slightly.

Squall’s ears fell flat against her hair as her senses quickened. A hiss began stirring in her throat.

Miraak stirred slowly, in what felt like ages to Squall, frozen in her crouched position over the First Dragonborn.

“Where-” Miraak took in his surroundings. “Skyrim?”

“Not quite,” Squall whispered. She could feel his gaze stiffen as he acknowledged her.

“You-” he paused, one hand quickly grasping his stomach, fingers grazing the fresh skin. For a few seconds, the pair were silent, with only the faint rustling of the Solstheim wilds providing symphony to their staredown.

  
“You have made a grave mistake, _Dovahkiin,”_ Miraak finally rasped.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Squall and Miraak finally get to chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... it's been a month.....
> 
> I'm pretty sure I promised to update this fic every week, y'know, like a competent person. Guess the procrastination really jumped out. 
> 
> Anyway, I soon kind of realized that this was gonna be a bit of a "filler chapter", despite it being really important to the overall story, because there's not much action going on. Which mean dialogue. Lots and lots of dialogue. Sorry if some of it isn't punctuated properly, I wrote half of this in my AP Government class. 
> 
> Honestly, the sooner this pair gets to Skyrim, the better, because I really cannot for the life of me remember how to spell Solstheim.

_You have made a grave mistake, Dovahkiin._ The quiet air hung over the pair like a shroud, the hush of Solstheim making the entire forest feel both too vast and too cramped at the same time. Squall felt a chill crawl up her back. She shuddered under her cloak, wrapping the furs closer to her, eyes cast down to avert Miraak’s piercing gaze.

“I know that,” she shifted uncomfortably, causing the leaves she knelt upon to crackle like the sky before an upcoming storm. Despite her many moons on Nirn, spent both valiantly and sheepishly, Squall now wore the expression of a child just caught stealing from a brother.

Not that she couldn’t justify her actions: just not to _him,_ he who, as far as Squall could tell had no reverence for the unnecessarily heroic, the stupid yet noble. What could she say? ‘It was the right thing to do?’ As if that could make any semblance of sense to a tyrant. _Right thing to do._ Was it even?

Miraak tried to rise to his feet, but stumbled, hand still grasped around his middle. Squall inched away. The look under the man’s golden mask was one that Squall had seen before, in sabre cats forced into too small cages and in bears she had shot down but not yet delivered a killing blow to.

Miraak fell with a sickening groan. His voice was less frightening outside of Hermaeus Mora’s realm. It no longer echoed and reverberated in Squall’s ears. It was quieter, even-- if she could dare to say it-- more human.

“I thought the restoration magic worked,” Squall whispered as she stared into the flames.

“Hermaeus Mora,” Miraak tried to stand again, this time barely even lifting his chest before collapsing again into a huddled pile of dark robes. “He’s coming to kill me.”

Squall’s blood froze. “No-- no he’s not,” she stammered. She glanced into the depths of the woodland. “He let me go.”

“Let you go?” Miraak’s voice dropped to a low, hushed tone. “Impossible.”

Squall shuddered and coughed, the dry air stinging her throat. “We’re here now. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“He’s planning something.”

Squall drew a harsh breath. “That’s a problem for another day,” she rasped. She didn’t want to admit that her muscles ached and her brain grew foggy from weariness. She was still shaking.

“You foolishness does not surprise me, _Dovahkiin,_ ” Miraak growled. Once again, he tried to rise in vain, movements quick and frantic. “I have to get out of here.”

Squall paused for a moment, then dug into the makeshift knapsack she had strapped to her waist, pulling out another healing tonic.

“Here.”

Miraak looked up at her. “What is this?”

“Health potion.” Hesitantly, Miraak reached out and took it.

He inspected the bottle. “This would be a fantastic way to poison me.”

Squall snorted. “Please. I’m not that clever.”

A hint of a chuckle could be heard from Miraak’s mask as he uncorked the bottle. Suddenly, he froze. “I, uh--”

“Right. The mask.”

“Look away.”

“So you can what, stab me in the back?”

Miraak frowned. “I would not be so dishonorable to pull such a cowardly move.”

“I doubt that,” Still, Squall averted her gaze, fidgeting with a stray thread on her tunic.

Her ears perked up as she heard the hard thump of metal against dirt, along with a harsh gasp. Squall shuddered as she remembered the howl of a dragon’s soul being ripped from its body during her fight with Miraak, the lightning that scorched her flesh, the sickening _crack_ that rung through her ears as she was slammed against an archway.

 _What was she doing?_ In a swift moment of blunt thoughtlessness, Squall looked up.

She bit down on her tongue to stifle a scream.

His face was unearthly. He was young (or certainly appeared to be younger than a few thousand years), but frighteningly pale, like a ghost. It was all sharp angles and shadows, framed by a mess of dark hair and stubble, spread thin on his jawline. His left eye was a deep, rich brown: his right, a flickering ensemble of several shades of green. Squall may consider it beautiful, if it wasn’t framed by a dark blotch, as black as night, that spiraled out across his face, making its way down his neck as thin veiny webbing. Like lightning had struck and left its remnants to grow, like roots of the tallest oak.

Miraak caught her gaze and froze. Squall immediately glanced away, cheeks burning.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

Miraak said nothing, letting the deafening silence eat her up as he drank the potion. Finally, after minutes of only listening to the wind whisper through the now darkening sky, Squall heard him rise. She looked back, noting that Miraak had put his mask back on.

“It’s getting dark,” she noted as she stood up and lazily started stamping out the fire she had made. “We need to get off this island.” Squall was dangerously exhausted, her head spinning and vision blurring with every movement, but she had to keep moving. Miraak’s words about Hermaeus Mora hunting the pair of them down had stuck in her mind, flooding her thoughts with gruesome images and horrific flashbacks.

“We?” Miraak crossed his arms.

Squall bit back a hiss. “Like I would dare to leave you to ravage this land.”

“Like you could stop me.”

Squall frowned. The thought had occurred to her once or twice that Miraak was still dangerous, immensely powerful and now, thanks to Squall, unfettered from his prison.

“I suppose I could not,” she replied. “But I doubt you could find your way out of this forest.”

“Are you going to guide me?” Miraak scoffed.

“Please,” Squall rolled her eyes. “I’m a foreigner to these parts as well.”

She began collecting her things, shrugging on her armor and heaving her warhammer onto her back.

“However,” she said. “I would rather make sure you’re not brainwashing the locals.”

“Then why free me in the first place?”

Squall’s ears flattened. “Perhaps I have a merciful spirit.”

“Mercy is not the way of the _dov_.”

“Then you are rather lucky that I am not the ‘true Dragonborn’.”

There was a long pause.

“I was never naive enough to truly think that,” Miraak said. He began slowly walking into the depths of the woodland.

“Your cultists, on the other hand--” Squall reluctantly followed him, straying a few yards behind.

“I told my cultists what they wanted to hear.”

“You lied to them.”

“It’s unfortunate you have such an honorable spirit. I almost thought you wished to split the glory of ruling Solstheim.”

“I have enough glory of my own already,” Squall glared at the First Dragonborn.

“Yet hardly enough sense.”

“You’re going the wrong way.”

Miraak turned around.

“You’re looking for a boat back to Skyrim, right? Raven Rock is to the west. Right now, we’re going north,” Squall pointed towards the sky. “See that cluster of stars, the ones that seem to form an archer? We have to follow that.” She began trudging in that general direction, steps determined yet weak and burdened down with exhaustion and her warhammer, ears pointed forward yet head still turned, one eye peering at Miraak.

“Looks more like a horse to me,” he grumbled, beginning to trek in her direction.

They walked in silence. Squall was thoroughly unbothered by this fact: her limbs ached enough as it was, all squabbling aside. She tried her best to not look back: instead keeping herself focused on the wilderness that encompassed them both: wholly untouched by man or mer alike, the fresh air wound around her, giving newfound energy to every breath she took. The frosty leaf litter that had strewn itself on the ground made a hearty _crunch_ in response to her footsteps, a sound that mingled well with the chattering of the birds and mournful cry of the wolves. The darkness of night now fully enveloped her, a shroud that she welcomed with open arms. Her night vision had given the entire world a slightly bluish tint, like she was looking through a fragment of shattered glass. The dark also gave her an upper hand: Miraak only had the slight brush of moonlight and the small storm of flames he had conjured in his palm to guide him.

“I used to study constellations as well,” a soft voice shattered the silence. Squall almost turned around. “But I couldn’t find much use for them.”

She said nothing.

“It’s easy to forget their names and faces,” he said. “Especially after--” His voice trailed off.

“Right,” she whispered. She found herself shutting her eyes, for just a second, to hide the world away: like she was a kitten again, who believed that she could force reality to pause between each blink.

 _There’s probably a Shout for that._ Squall shook her head.

The pair marched on.

“You would have done the same,” Miraak finally said.

Squall stopped. “What?”

“If our roles had been reversed. If you were there trapped. You would have done the same.”

“Perhaps,” Squall sighed. She drew a deep breath. “If our roles had been reversed. However,” her voice wavered, each syllable stinging her throat. She could feel her knees buckling, her armor digging into overburdened and weary flesh. _Just a few more steps._ “Would you?”

“Done what?” Miraak replied. “Save you? Probably not.”

A shadow of his voice rang through Squall’s ears. _Mercy is not the way of the dov._

“That’s unfortunate,” she croaked, and then promptly fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gosh if there's a mod that makes characters faint from over exhaustion pls give me the link 
> 
> also... comments and kudos appreciated. like, subscribe, hit that bell icon, summon me on Hallow's eve. I crave attention.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Squall wakes up to face some nightmarish travelers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmaoooooooo its been a month WHOOPS 
> 
> anyway, I had planned out what i wanted to accomplish in this chapter before i began writing it and....
> 
> then i went on to write something completely different. 
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading, comments and kudos appreciated, please i am very tired so it would mean a lot

Squall woke with a gloved hand clamped over her mouth. Her eyes widened as she slowly came to, feeling the craggy rock underneath her. Arms beginning to frantically find a grip on the arms of her captor, Squall felt her claws unsheath as her muffled screams rang out. They were only met with more restraint. A startled hiss rose in Squall’s throat as she realized whose palm covered her muzzle. _Gods, he’s trying to kill me._

“Be quiet,” Miraak grumbled. “They’re watching us.”

Squall gave him a confused yet incredulous look.

“Seekers,” he tried to explain. One of his hands was fully ablaze, flames spitting into the nighttime sky. “He’s caught onto us.”

Squall froze. The grip on her slackened. She scrambled to her knees and surveyed her surroundings. She and Miraak were perched near a cliff edge, overlooking an imposing stone structure.

The formation of the building consisted of a circular stone floor, inscribed with obscure patterns, flanked by impressive arches, one built upon another to form tiers flanking the  center platform, adorned by a square pillar that rested in the middle of the ruins. Stone spikes along the perimeter curled inwards, like vines seeking the sun-- or, more appropriately, like the tendrils of some great beast slowly pursuing prey.

“Your temple,” Squall said, squinting through the darkness. And then she saw them-- grotesque monsters of some otherworldly dimension, ones she wished she wasn’t all-too-familiar with. Three Seekers hovered lazily around the edge of the vast structure, their tentacles spread wide to taste the dewy air. She began reaching for the warhammer that was still firmly slung on her back.

“Stop,” Miraak put one hand on her weapon. “They don’t know we’re here yet.”

Squall gave him a worrying glance. “Should we try and sneak past them?” she whispered.

“Probably.”

Squall slowly rose to her feet, ears flattening as the snow under her boots crunched ever-so-quietly. The Seekers froze. She let out a quiet string of curses.

A pair of gnarled hands emerged from one of the creatures, withered fingers curling together as the Seeker produced a sphere of ghostly energy. With one swift movement, the beast fired the orb straight at Squall’s head. She yelped and ducked in the nick of time, leaving the ball of energy to sail over her head and off into the distance.

“So much for stealth,” Miraak grumbled. One of his hands was already raised in warning, bright blue sparks buzzing off of the fingers of his gloves. The other palm still was still lit, but the fire had increased dramatically in size.

Warhammer already drawn, Squall charged, teeth bared and ears flattened against her skull. Leaping from the cliff’s edge, her eyes widened in midair as a spark of lightning shot past her and struck the first Seeker, sending it stumbling back into the other creatures. The Seekers began to congregate, forming a triangle of otherworldly growls and flailing tentacles. She shuddered as her feet hit the ground, waves of shock barreling through her body. The second Seeker raised its hands and let out another orb of energy, this one hitting Squall square in the chest, knocking the breath right out of her. She growled as patches of her skin once again stung with new cuts and bruises, formed by the dastardly magic.

“ _Fo Krah Diin!_ ” Miraak’s voice bellowed out from above. The Seekers backed away from the cloud of harsh frost that descended upon them, hissing their unearthly screams. Squall utilized the precious seconds Miraak’s attack had given her by drawing her warhammer and tramping towards the monsters, targeting her attack upon the first Seeker, which was already shocked and crumbling to the right of her. With one single motion, Squall heaved her warhammer above her shoulders and brought it down in a single furious smash, sending bits of the Seeker to strew across the temple floor. As she recovered from her attack, Miraak kept the other two distracted with several firebolts, the bursts of flame emitting from his hands in rapid succession.

Squall swung around, letting the head of her hammer sink into the body of the second Seeker. It crumbled just as the third teleported a few feet away from her.

“Watch out, _Dovahkiin!_ ” Miraak yelled. The warning came too late. Another sphere came spiraling towards her, this time only missing by a hair. Still, its mere presence made Squall’s head spin and her knees weak. Still, she maintained her fighting stance, taking a few seconds to focus on steadying her raggedy breath. A final bolt of flame hit the monster square in the head, silencing it forever.

Perusing the temple exterior for more enemies that might sneak up on the pair, Squall finally concluded that there were none, and slung the glass warhammer onto her back. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the aureate light that now burned under her skin, cleansing her cuts and stitching them back together with such divine precision. The healing magic worked best when she was calm, Squall reminded herself as she took a deep breath.

“You’ve been here before,” a blunt voice spoke from right behind her. Squall stiffened, then turned around to face Miraak.

 _How’d he get down here so quickly?_ She furrowed her brow. “Yes, once,” Squall finally replied. “This is where I found the first of the Black Books.”

Miraak scoffed, but gave no further comment.

Squall’s eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of a darkened figure in her peripheral vision. Before she could even turn her head, she could smell the scent of blood wafting from the other end of the arena, where the body lay. Rushing up to the corpse, Squall noticed the dark patches of dried blood that grew larger as she ran to the body. Squall bent down to examine the body. It was covered in tattered brown robes, its head covered in a mask that now lay slightly askew on the corpse’s neck, revealing a sliver of deep gray skin. The mask appeared to be made of some sort of ivory, an opulent material that didn’t match the crude handiwork of whoever crafted it: it was roughly sculpted to look like one of the creatures Squall had just fought and cracked in quite a few areas. The eyes of the mask had been unnervingly scratched out.

“You fight too recklessly, Dragonborn,” Miraak grumbled as he approached her. “It’s a surprise you haven’t gotten yourself killed yet.”

“I fight the way I always have,” Squall traced her fingers against the crevices of the mask. “It hasn’t let me down yet.”

“ _Yet.”_

“I fought the same way when I defeated Alduin,” Squall shook her head and got back on her feet. “Perhaps you underestimate me.”

“Alduin is nothing considering what you’re up against now, _Dovahkiin.”_

“That’s hard to believe.”  

Miraak stiffened. “You really have no idea what you’re up against,” he growled.

Squall frowned. “It’s not my problem,” she mumbled.

Miraak raised his hands in frustration.  “It absolutely _is_ you problem, Dragonborn! Whether you like it or not, Hermaeus Mora is coming to rip you limb from limb, or…” His voice trailed off.

“Or trap me,” Squall’s voice felt hollow as it crept up her throat. “He’ll trap me, I know.”

“You don’t know,” Miraak sneered. “You have absolutely no idea. You see all of this--” he gestured to the remains of the Seekers that law strewn out across the temple. “And you still ignore it. You are blinded by your own ignorance, _Dovahkiin-_ -" 

“My name is Squall.”

“What?” Miraak’s voice lowered.

“Stop calling me _Dovahkiin_ , or Dragonborn,” Squall took a step forward, ignoring the fact that she was trembling. “My name is Squall. Use it.”

“Very well, _Squall,”_ The word felt unnatural on Miraak’s tongue. Before she could protest, he grabbed her right wrist, pulling it towards the corpse. “You see this body, _Squall?_ This could have been you. This would have been you.”

Squall took a harsh breath.

“You are a fish before it’s been trapped. A deer before it’s been shot. You think you are free because you cannot yet see the arrow directed between your eyes. _And you aren’t even scared.”_

“Of course I’m scared!” Squall yanked her wrist from Miraak’s grip. “I’ve been scared my whole godsforsaken life. But this?” She gestured to the body before her. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Nobody ever does.”

“But you, you live-- lived-- for this Dragonborn shit. I don’t want that. I never asked for any of that. I never asked to be Dragonborn!” It took Squall a second to realize she was heaving. Tears burned in the corners of her eyes, but she pushed them back. She was tired of crying.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” Squall looked up in disbelief.

“For your gruesome fate. I am sorry,” Miraak turned his head to avoid her gaze. “Nobody asks for this.”

Squall lowered her head and backed away from the body. She spent several minutes pacing across the temple floor in silence, using the bleak wilderness as a distraction from the scene in front of her. Finally, she spoke.

“I’m making camp. We’ll rest for a few hours, then head out and finish the journey to Raven Rock.”

“T-” Miraak raised his voice for a second, then lowered it again. “Alright.”

Squall peered up at the sky. It appeared to be early in the afternoon, only a few hours after noon. “It might be better to travel at night,” she remarked. “There’s less of a chance that we’ll be spotted.”

Without a response, she began scouting the perimeter. “We can set up over here,” she gestured under one of the arches. The idea that resting inside of the complex would be safer, from both any harsh blizzards or foes that came their way did cross  Squall’s mind, but she quickly squandered it. To rest in the temple felt like taking a nap in a bed stuffed with ghosts. “I don’t have much with me, but I can make a fire and we can hunt,” she said, the uncertainty of her words leaking through her positive tone. “It’s better than nothing.”

“Very well,” Miraak said. “You seem tired.”

Squall shivered, remembering the few moments before she collapsed. A knot of embarrassment began to build in her stomach.

“Right--” She averted her gaze.

“Hermaeus Mora’s land does that to people,” Miraak said. “Sucks them of their energy. Usually, they aren’t able to escape.”

Squall nodded, remembering the Seekers. Creatures formed from the souls lost in the halls of Apocrypha, she had learned.

“Why did you take me with you?” Squall blurted out. The question had came to her when she first woke up, but had been pushed aside quickly by the traveler’s unwanted encounter. “When I collapsed. It was your chance to run free.”

“You,” Miraak paused. “When you dragged me out of Apocrypha, and saved my life, you had placed me in your debt. Steeply,” he grimaced. “It would be dishonorable of me to leave you out in the cold.”

“So I am now indebted to you,” Squall almost bit her tongue as the bad taste of those words filled up her mouth.

“It seems so, yes,” Miraak’s voice lightened, now just a shade of the booming roar Squall had associated with him.

“Perhaps we can call it even?”

“Perhaps,” a slight chuckle could be heard from behind the First Dragonborn’s mask.

After a few seconds of silence, Squall did something that felt so absurd, so out of place considering everything that had happened and everything that would happen, it felt like her body was acting on its own, without her mind’s direction.

“A truce, then.” Miraak’s gaze hesitantly met Squall’s outstretched hand. “That we won’t kill each other before this whole ordeal is over.”

Miraak finally reached over to meet Squall in a firm handshake.

“I still have my eye on you, _Dovahkiin,”_ he warned.

“It’s Squall.”

Miraak hesitated. “Squall.”

And, for the first time in what felt like eternity, Squall smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://imgur.com/7ViKkkd
> 
> that's it folks


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Squall goes hunting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO BIG BIG BIG TW FOR DRUGS/ DRUG OVERDOSE AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER (After the little divider line)
> 
> This would also be a good time to say that in no way am I trying to make light of any of the topics listed above, nor am I trying to belittle them or use them for the "shock factor". I was pretty uneasy about including this passage at all, but I finally decided for it due to the weight I think that it places on Squall's backstory and future themes and motivations, along with the general tone of the piece (I'm a future English major, which pretty much gives me the license to take my Skyrim fanfiction a little too seriously). 
> 
> Anyway, I usually end each chapter with a lil' meme, but this time around I'll instead be provide y'all with translations for some of the dialogue said during the chapter. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy. If you like my work, please consider giving me a hot hot kudos. If you hate my work, I'm sorry, but you can still comment and make me cry!

Squall set out to hunt.

She did so out of necessity: a half truth that she had quickly mumbled to Miraak before dashing off in order to evade any further questioning. A bit of her worried that the man would offer to go with her-- even take her place. Despite the coolness in his tone of voice, it was apparent to Squall that Miraak was uncomfortable resting in the remnants of his former glorious rule. She felt a twinge of guilt about leaving him there, but, she firmly concluded, this act of selfishness on her part could be the only thing that would keep her sane in the coming hours.

Was there a chance Miraak would run off? Perhaps. But despite her initial (and ongoing, Squall admitted to herself) distrust of the First Dragonborn, there seemed to be something final, even sacred, in the handshake they shared and the pact they made.

“ _I still have my eye on you,_ Dovahkiin,” Miraak’s words echoed in her ears. She smiled faintly.

 _He better keep his promises,_ Squall thought. _If not, I’ll hunt him down before Hermaeus Mora can find either of us._

Hermaeus Mora. The words quickened Squall’s heart, as if just thinking about the Daedra could lead to her demise. It probably could, she thought with a chill. But her brain would not quiet.

_Hermaeus Mora. Hermaeus Mora. Hermaeus Mora. He’s going to find you. Kill you. Destroy any evidence of your existence. You’ll come back to camp and Miraak will be reduced to shreds, bleeding out on the stone floors of his very own shrine._

Squall’s stomach did a backflip. She looked over her shoulder with hesitation. Perhaps she should turn back now.

She shook her head. No. She had a job, and she would do it. Like her presence would stop Hermaeus Mora anyway.

 _What happens will happen._ Squall trudged onward.

The cool air wrapped around her as she broke into a steady jog. A chill crept up her back, causing her teeth to chatter. She had left her warhammer back at the temple, along with heavy armor and cloak, leaving her only in a loose tunic and breeches. She only brought her dagger with her, and she didn’t even need that, really. Her approach to hunting was simple really, but a bit silly and a touch barbaric (at least according to the Nords that had caught her method in action). Still, it worked-- even when her body was beaten down and her mind was preoccupied with images of disaster.

Squall unsheathed her claws. The movement relaxed her for reasons she could never fully articulate. Squall had stopped using her claws for combat soon after arriving in Skyrim-- her life had gotten much more dangerous and she was in need of a stronger weapon-- but she still kept them sharpened in case of tricky situations. At her poorest and most desperate, she even took to carving small wooden figurines with them, selling each one on city streets when she was allowed to, or to caravans when she wasn’t. City guards could always take away her weapons and armor, but ripping out her claws was a cruelty even they were hesitant to stoop to.

Squall took in a deep breath, searching for a proper scent trail to latch onto. Although the Khajiit lacked many catlike characteristics, they did share a strong sense of smell with their feline cousins. Squall quickly caught onto the scent of a deer, complete with faint tracks to follow. She stealthily crept through the undergrowth until she could see her target: a buck of enormous size, pawling lazily at the bare earth. Bristling, Squall slowly began to scale one of the sturdy firs that littered the area. As she climbed, the stag’s ears perked up, causing Squall to freeze. However, he didn’t budge. Once she was secure from above, Squall readied herself. In a flash, she sent a fireball towards a hunk of snow that lay near the deer-- and more importantly, in the other direction from where Squall was perched. The stag took off, footfalls nearly silent on the soft earth. Squall leapt from her brance, front claws only barely missing the stag’s hind. She cursed under her breath. She had been sloppy. Still, Squall pursued the buck, who was outrunning her at an alarming rate. Now the only solution was to do this the hard way, or go back to Miraak empty handed and weak-willed.

Squall coughed to clear her throat. Guess the hard way would have to do.

“ _Fus Ro Dah!”_

In hindsight, there was probably a better Shout she could use. But this one: her first one, learned back when she knew little about her destiny, was the one that came to mind in the moment.

The bushes violently thrashed against the power of her Shout. The stag flew back, its massive head slamming against a tree, its neck making an unsettling crack.

Squall stared in awe, or terror, or both. _At least it worked._

She slowly crept up to her prey.

The buck was only barely alive, its legs twitching from the mossy blanket where it lay. Its eyes were wide with fear, darting from their sockets.

Squall drew her dagger. It would produce a cleaner cut. She whispered a short prayer to Khenarthi, thanking her for the successful hunt. Then she drove the dagger deep into the creature’s jugular, wincing as she felt its life seep from it.

She cut out the still-warm entrails quickly, leaving the guts in a tidy pile on the dirt, an offering to any beasts that roamed these woods. She hauled the body back to camp: not an easy feat, but one that was certainly helped by the strength charm she learned long ago from an Altmer traveller, one that was tough to cast, but increased one’s ability to lift and haul things threefold.

The sun had dipped a bit once she got back to the temple. Miraak had made a small fire in her absence. He slouched over it, mask glowing a hazy orange from the flame. Squall shivered as the scent of smoke drifted nearer. Struggling, she finally heaved the sliced up body up the temple steps, watching the blood trail from its entrails and puddle in the carvings of the stone.

“I’m back,” she mumbled.

Miraak’s head shifted slightly upward. Squall frowned. His mask was beginning to wear on her: it felt unsettling to be talking to a hunk of metal, and not a _person;_ unfair that _he_ got to hide all of his emotions while she floundered about, expressions plastered on her face like a fool.

Squall shook her head. “I went hunting,” she said, trying to form a more deadpan expression. “I, uh, brought something back,” she nudged the carcass with the toe of her boot.

“Indeed you did,” Miraak rose in silence. “May I ask how?”

Squall snorted. “Chased it down.”

“I heard you shout.”

Squall fidgeted with the leather cord of her amulet. “Well, it worked.”

She expected Miraak to say more, but he simply shrugged and began helping her drag the deer near the fire.

Squall pulled out her dagger and started cutting away at the meat that still stuck to the disemboweled body. “At least we’ll have something to eat.”

Even with his mask, Squall could feel Miraak’s eyes peering at her. “Do you hunt often?”

Squall met his gaze. “When I have to,” she replied. “I tend to camp outside the city walls when I’m away for home.” _Keeps me out of trouble._

“Where do you live?” These words were said slowly, as if they themselves were delicate. _He’s also walking on eggshells._

“Whiterun,” she stared down at her hands, busy at work paring the meat. They were soaked through with blood. Squall felt queasy as she remembered the last time she was hunched over a body, as she tried to separate strange substances from flesh. “The Jarl knows about my… condition,” she continued. “He’s a kind man. Able to see past his prejudice and my… history, and know me as the person I am today.”

“Right,” Miraak nodded. He chuckled a bit: a deep, throaty sound that seemed to reverberate throughout the wilderness. “I’ve never heard of it being referred to that. A ‘condition’. _Fod drey hi mindok hi lost Dovahkiin?”_

Squall blanked. “What?” She put down her dagger. She had cut out most of the meat, the thick pieces now bleeding a vivid red against the burning afternoon sun. It had warmed up considerably since Squall had first set out. Her cloak was still piled with her warhammer and armor, but Squall was no longer cold, her joints stilled in the sunshine.

“You do not know _Dovahzul?”_

Squall shook her head, brow furrowing. 

Miraak was silent for a few seconds. “How do you learn Shouts?” he asked.

“I just feel them,” Squall tried to parse together the right words to explain what surged inside of her, what overtook her, when she came across the words for a new Shout. “I see the words, and I know. Not what they mean, but…” Squall stared down at the raw flesh in her paws. “How to use them. It just comes to me.” She rose, and started near the fire. She had no cookware with her, but there were some flat stones she found in the rubble around the parts of the temple that had broken down. They could be used to hold the meat over the flames, at the very least. While primitive, it would work. She began setting the slabs into the blaze, kneeling over the fire as she balanced the meat in her other arm.

Miraak walked over to met her. Squall looked up in surprise when his hand met hers, grasping onto the stone she was carrying. “Allow me,” he grumbled. Squall muttered a quiet thanks as he took the last stone and put it in the fire. She began to place each hunk of meat onto each stone, watching the juices that had dripped down her arms and pooled in the creases of her palms sizzle under the flame, their bubbles bulbous and pinkish and fleeting, disappearing as soon as she closed her eyes. “The way you learn Shouts is interesting,” Miraak’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Still, you do not know the language of your blood? Nobody ever taught you?”

Squall stared down at her knees, biting her tongue. She suddenly felt very small. “No,” she finally said. "Never got the chance. Learning Cyrodillic was hard enough.”

“You are not from this land?”

Squall gave him a confused look. “I am Khajiit. I am from Elsweyr.”

Miraak looked away. “Right. I just assumed--”

Squall scoffed. “Ta’agra is in my blood. Not Dovahzul.”

Miraak fell into an angry silence. Then, he spoke. “You cannot escape your fate, Squall _.”_

Squall frowned, swallowing deeply. “If this situation has taught me anything, I absolutely can.” She peered back into the fire, hoping Miraak wouldn’t notice the strained expression on her face. The meat was almost done. “We’ll eat here, and rest for a few more hours. Once the sun reaches the tips of those trees,” she pointed to some elms in the distance. “We journey on.”

Miraak gave a slight nod. He said nothing.  

Squall barely noticed. Her mind was elsewhere.

* * *

 

 

Her mother was mewling again.

Squall could sense the shakes beginning, even as she sat at the front of the caravan, back turned towards the rest of the wagon. It was a feeling she had felt many times before, and yet could never quite parse into a string of words: it simply rose from a deep cavity in her (one she never quite knew she had) to wreak havoc on her heart, her stomach, her lungs. To send her into a quivering fit, one that cried out into the darkest parts of her even when she knew there was nothing.

There was nothing she could do to stop it. She had to journey onward.

She went to meet her mother.

Zarina was curled up in the back corner of the hulking vessel, nudged between two overflowing boxes of foreign firs and intricately knotted carpets. The group had been on the road for a few moons now, going north from Elsweyr to Cyrodiil in hopes of better trading prospects. Their final destination was Skyrim: news of the assassination of High King Torygg had just reached the south, along with the hopes that the Civil War would get much bloodier. War was good for trading, after all. And with the Nords turned against each other, they would be more likely to buy from foreigners: even if said foreigners were unworthy to enter their cities.

Squall pushed aside a few sacks of loose tomatoes to crouch down next to Zarina. Her mother’s pupils were faint slits, almost rolled back into her skull. She barely even recognized her own daughter pulling her closer into a tight embrace, too consumed by her own incoherent rambling.

“ _Fado, fado,”_ Squall whispered into Zarina’s ear. “ _Kaaka raba jer sajka?”_

With a firm grasp, Squall forced the small glass bottle of Skooma out of Zarina’s grip, making a frail _thunk_ as it dropped to the floor. Both of their bodies swayed like palm trees trapped in a hurricane as their vehicle rocked back and forth, back and forth.

“ _Jajo nirni vaba rhogur,_ Do’azda,” Zarina whispered into Squall’s ear, words faltering with every breath. Squall could barely hear them over the rush of her tears. Zarina’s fingertips were as cold as ice, her breathing dilapidated.

“ _Ahzirr dej dok_ ,” Squall blubbered. “ _Ahzirr dej khi huna_.”

“ _Dov_.” Zarina wheezed. Then, in the Cyrodillic Squall had so desperately wanted both of them to learn: “You will carry on.” Her body grew limper with each passing second. Her shakes grew more intense, making the tears that coated her face tremble. Quick screams began reverberating from her throat, their noise strangled and desperate.

“ _Ahziss dejoh_ ,” Squall croaked. “Not without you.”

 _“_ Daughter,” Zarina traced Squall’s tear stains with her thumb. “This one can and will. Or Zarina has taught you nothing. _Jer dejoh lhajiito jer zisa_ , Do’azda.”

Her head began to droop in Squall’s arms. In the midst of her anguish, Zarina gave a faint smile.

“The gods know that Zarina is so, so tired. They know that Do'azda is strong, strong enough to move mountains without her old mother holding Khajiit down--”

“ _Fado--_ ” Squall bit her tongue, as if the pain would force herself into a different reality entirely. Only the faint metallic taste of blood was there to greet her. “Do not talk like that. Zarina will be okay. Khajiit just has to--”

Zarina’s body stilled. Squall heaved, emitting a strangled, guttural cry.

“Serves that one right,” an elder Khajiit leered at her from his posting at the front of the caravan. “Dirtying the merchandise with her paws.”  

That was the first time Squall beat a man within an inch of his life.

A few hours later, she buried her mother alone by the side of the road.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay translation time
> 
> I used translators from thuum.org and taagra.com respectively. There might be some mistakes, so I'm providing what I intended to write in each language below: 
> 
> "Fod drey hi mindok hi lost Dovahkiin?" = "When did you know you were Dragonborn?" 
> 
> Fado = mother (Squall says it a few times) 
> 
> “Kaaka raba jer sajka?” = "What have you done?" 
> 
> “Jajo nirni vaba rhogur" = "This world is cruel."
> 
> “Ahzirr dej dok"... "Ahzirr dej khi huna.” = "We can stop" ... "We can go back."
> 
> "Dov." = "No." 
> 
> “Ahziss dejoh." = "I cannot." 
> 
> "Jer dejoh lhajiito jer zisa, Do’azda.” = "You cannot escape your fate, Do'azda." (In case I did a bad job at conveying it, Do'azda is Squall's 'real' name.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to leave Solstheim bay bee!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well,,,, this is awkward.
> 
> Sorry for almost abandoning this fic, college hit me like a ton of bricks. Surprisingly though, now that I'm actually used to being productive I can find the motivation to write. That, or this is all just another great procrastination tactic.
> 
> Anyway, like, subscribe, buy me Panera Bread. As always, I would really appreciate it. : )

They left at dusk, under the cover of the crisp autumn air. The evening shade brought a new dimension to the shadows of Solstheim: every bush or boulder felt more defined; the crunch of snow under Squall’s feet was now deafening. The pair practically staggered through the woods, gaining quick ground under the waning moon as the sky darkened. She found herself relaxing in the darkness, jaw unclenching as she navigated herself through the wilderness. Miraak had conjured a small flame that darted in and out of her peripheral vision, dancing with the harsh northern breezes. 

 

They traveled mostly in silence: a fickle silence, one that could feel comforting and awkward at the same time. Then again, time always felt hazy in the wild-- it bled through Squall’s hands, slipping through her fingers like the finest of sands. 

 

“Have you always lived in Solstheim?” Squall finally asked, glancing around. The sun was finally rising, bathing the sky in a deep purple. She determined that they must be close to Raven Rock-- either that, or horribly lost. 

 

“Yes,” Miraak stated. “Of course, it was once part of the mainland.” 

 

“Right,” Squall racked her brains for the legend she had first read ages ago, the one she found buried in the worn book she found when she first explored the caverns of Solstheim.  “It was, until you fought- you fought…” 

 

“Vahlok,” Squall could barely hear Miraak’s low whisper. “We fought for three days and nights. Then--” His voice died down. 

 

Silence again. Squall kept her eyes on the rising sun. 

 

“I would’ve died,” Miraak finally said. “It was-- I had no choice. You wouldn’t understand.” 

 

Squall snorted. “Probably not.”

 

Silence.

 

“It wasn’t death I was running from,” Miraak’s voice was raspy, each ragged syllable hanging in the air like a dirty omen. “It was defeat. Succumbing to Vahlok, swallowing my pride and letting myself fail-- He gave me another option. Send me away to fight again. I was to remain victorious in my own right. It was an escape.” 

Squall opened her mouth, yet words evaded her. 

 

“It was a prison made to look like an escape, a prison I was desperate enough to lock myself in. An escape. That’s what I thought. Like a fool,” Miraak paused. Squall could feel his presence stiffen and turn away. She swallowed deeply and looked back at Miraak. His head was low, the splintered light from his mask casting dappled light upon the dark ground ahead of him. “I wouldn’t wish that place upon anyone, Squall.” 

 

“I--” Squall stepped towards him, hand outstretched. She barely touched his forearm before quickly retracting her hand and stepping away. 

 

“The closer we get to Skyrim, the better.” 

 

Squall gave a quick nod, turning around to resume her trek. 

 

A low growl emanated from the distance. 

 

“What was that?” Squall’s ears pricked up. The whole earth rumbled with a tremendous force that shook her to her core. She had experienced this before: even if she refused to name the source of the noise, her soul still stirred with resounding fury. Her nose twitched as she smelled smoke rising from the distance. 

 

“I thought you had slain Alduin!” Miraak turned to her. 

 

“I did!” Squall responded indignantly, already sprinting off towards the carnage. “The other dragons must not have gotten the message.” 

 

Squall ran blindly towards the smoke, moving too quickly to even draw a weapon or check to see if Miraak was behind her. Heart already squirming with adrenaline, she began to parse faint screams emanating from the great stone cliffs that hid Raven Rock from her view. 

 

Skidding as she approached the daunting cliffside, Squall flattened her ears to block out the great roars that were nearly deafening her. She scanned the landscape for the dragon, but her eyes only fell on fresh corpses and soldiers struggling to get up and fight once more. 

 

She felt Miraak’s presence from behind her.

 

“I think it’s hiding,” she said. 

 

“I doubt it,” he replied. “Dragons are far too proud for that.” 

 

“Well, I don’t see--” 

 

A great shadow suddenly descended upon the two of them. 

 

“Now, ambushing is another story,” Miraak grumbled. 

 

Squall let out a string of curses as she dodged a great surge of flames. Reorienting herself, she spun around to see Miraak blasting a stream of lightning at the airborne creature while shouting something incoherent. Mind racing, she took a deep breath and readied herself. 

 

_ “Joor Zah Frul!”  _

 

A strange blue light immediately surrounded the dragon, forcing the violent beast closer and closer to the earth. 

 

Miraak froze. “What in Oblivion was  _ that?”  _

 

Squall ignored him, instead grabbing her warhammer. She charged at the dragon, aiming her first blow to the wing. She winced at the crack of bone as she brought the head of her weapon down upon the dragon’s right shoulder blade, sending its head reeling towards her. She leapt from the beast and almost crashed into Miraak. 

 

“What are you doing?” she hissed. 

 

“I should be asking the same from you,” he replied as he pressed his hands onto the dragon’s shoulder blade. Squall shivered as she felt the restorative energy flowing into the beast. “Damaging our ride.” 

 

Squall stared blankly at him. The blue light around the dragon slowly faded.

 

_ "Zu'u fent aam,”  _ the dragon said, turning to face Squall. _ “I am at your command." _

“That means ‘I shall serve’,” Squall could practically hear Miraak’s smirk from behind his mask. “If you were wondering. 

“You used bend will on it?” Squall frowned. She took a step back from the First Dragonborn. 

“It would be a waste to kill him now. Or to do… whatever you were doing.” 

“Dragonrend,” Squall snapped. “It was created  _ after  _ your time.” While the vitriol of her words stung, she still kept a blank expression. If Miraak could act obnoxious, so could she.

Instead of a witty comeback, Miraak met her with pure curiosity. “ _ Created? _ ” 

“By mortal tongues, as I learned. To be used against dragons. It helped me in my fight against Alduin.” 

The very dragon that stood next to the pair gave a low growl.

“We should probably get on with it,” Squall said. “If you really believe this is a good idea.”  _ Even if it seems both irresponsible and unethical to me.  _

Even with her limited experiences in dragon riding, the idea of mind-controlling a great beast to take them across nearly half a country seemed incredibly dangerous-- a rather effective way to avoid traveling for weeks on end, yet dangerous still. Of course, there was also the fact that the Shout Miraak used to help them both get back to Skyrim was the same one he used to force hundreds of people into a comatose state, making them blindly build shrines to a man whose name they could hardly even recall.

Despite her words, Squall kept her feet planted on the ground. 

“You have your doubts.” 

Squall stared at the now functioning wing of the dragon, averting Miraak’s gaze. 

“Well, yes. This whole plan  just seems quite treacherous to me.” 

“Then you can take the boat.” Miraak gestured to the docks in the distance, which were very much on fire. A few dark elves began to scamper about, fetching buckets of water to put out the blaze set upon their homes. 

“Well, we could help them,” she said, gesturing towards the inhabitants of Raven Rock. “Then take the ship.” 

“And how long will that take?” 

Squall bit her tongue. “Well, how can I trust that you won’t blast me out of the sky?” 

“I could say the same to you,” Miraak hoisted himself upon the dragon’s back. 

“I would never. We made a truce.” Squall gazed up at him, resting confidently between the beast’s wings.  _ Gods, he’s done this a million times before.  _

“A truce you think I would break.” 

_ Well yes, you do seem like the type,  _ Squall thought. “There’s just no way of knowing,” her voice was tense and wavering. “What you will do.” 

“Listen,” Miraak held out a hand towards her. “There is much you can teach me. There is much I can teach you. It is best that we stay together for the meantime.” 

“Fine,” Squall nearly reach out to grab his outstretched hand, before retracting slightly. “On one condition.” 

“What?” 

“You take off the mask.” 

Miraak froze. “ _ What?”  _

“I can’t talk to someone without seeing his face,” Squall explained.  _ I can’t trust him, either.  _ “Besides, you stick out like a sore thumb. A Khajiit and a giant, masked man? People are going to think we’re up to something.” 

“We  _ are  _ up to something.”

Squall frowned. “Not like that. People are going to think that we’re suspicious.”  _ Even though we sort of are.  _

“Why should we care? We’re Dragonborn.” 

“Nobody knows that.” Squall looked away. “Only a few people know I’m Dragonborn, Miraak.”  _ And I would like to keep it that way.  _

Miraak stared at her. “How is that possible?” 

“I try to keep it a secret, to be honest. People knowing would… complicate things.” 

After a few seconds of silence, Miraak sighed deeply. “Fine,” he said. “I suppose you have a point.” 

Squall looked away as he took off his mask, even though she wasn’t asked. 

“There,” Miraak said. “Are you happy now?” 

Squall glanced up, bracing herself. However, his face felt… more human now, in the morning light. The black splotch that stained the skin around his one green eye, while still distinct, looked fainter. Under his lips, on his chin, lay a faint scar Squall hadn’t noticed before. No, this was no longer a monstrous face. It was even attractive-- a thought Squall shoved deep into the recesses of her brain. 

“I-- uh,” she stammered. “We can go.” She uneasily climbed on the dragon’s back, avoiding the mammoth spikes that ran down its spine. 

“Where are we going?” Miraak looked back at her.  

“Whiterun,” Squall explained. “I have a house there.” 

“Very well.  _ Sahloknir, drun mu wah Ahrolsedovah!”  _

The great beast lurched forward. Squall held her breath as the dragon broke into a run, spreading its wings as it leapt off of the cliff. There was a split second feeling of falling, before the wind carried them into the horizon. 

Squall took a second to reorient herself, focusing her attention towards the passing clouds and the billowing winds. It took her a second to realize that she was clutching Miraak’s robes, to which she immediately dropped. 

“It knows where we’re going, right?” she shouted over the roar of the dragon’s flapping wings. 

“Better than we could ever!” Miraak yelled back at her. He was smiling. “You don’t ride dragons often, do you?” 

“Not quite,” Squall shook her head. 

“That’s a shame!” Miraak laughed. “It makes me wish I was born a full dragon, rather than a mere human with the soul of one.” 

Squall chuckled at that. She took a second to enjoy the exhilarating rush of tearing through the sky. “Yeah, I suppose I could understand that. I’ll be happy to reach the ground, though.” 

“Do you have family in Whiterun?” Miraak asked. 

“Something like that. I have a daughter.” 

Miraak’s brow furrowed. “You have a daughter?” 

Squall bit her lip.  _ I shouldn’t have said that. Now he has collateral. An upper hand.  _ Her spirits sank as she thought of Miraak towering over her small blonde girl, heart set on murder. 

Yet, as she glanced up at the man riding a dragon with her, his head tossed back in joy and eyes cast towards the sun, she cast that image aside.  _ I’ll be cautious, _ she promised herself. 

“Not through birth. She needed a family. I took her in.” 

Miraak nodded, his smile fading. “I have-- used to have children. I don’t know what happened to them.” 

He said no more. They rode in silence. But as the dragon flew over what she could now make out to be the coasts of Skyrim, Squall decided upon something incredibly risky. Something that felt like navigating the darkest of forests, like flying without wings. 

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around Miraak’s torso, taking a second to wait for him to flinch, or recoil, or confront her. He didn’t. She pressed her forehead into his robes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What if we... rode a dragon... together.... aha, just kidding.... unless...?


End file.
